


Guiding Moonlight

by Speaks_With_Bones



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Body Horror, Child Death, Death, Gore, Mentor/Protégé, Morality, No Sex, No Smut, Transformation, Violence, Werewolves, platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speaks_With_Bones/pseuds/Speaks_With_Bones
Summary: The hunger turns men into beasts, but the fear turns men into monsters.The Silver Dawn is bent on the eradication of the werewolf plague through any means necessary. They won't hesitate to purge anything between them and their goal. Not all monsters are made equal though, and the lines between what is good and what is right become a little more obscure each day.





	1. A Severed Wolf's Head Still Bites

The hour was late, but the fens of Glenumbra were alight under the fullness of Masser and Secunda. The croaking and bellowing of the wildlife did little to cover the persistent sloshing of heavy boots through the mud and muck. Each footstep was imbued with inexhaustible purpose as the Silver Dawn's Purifier closed in on a homely collection of shacks within the Hag Fen. Without the slightest hint of hesitation he strode up to one of the cheap, swamp wood doors.

  
_Thunk. Thunk._  
_Crash!_

  
The door crashed inwards, revealing the twisted, wolf-like monster, crouching low to the ground. It backed away, pressed against the far wall, glaring up at the hunter with its blood red eyes. It howled, a low pathetic bellow. If it weren't a beast, it would almost seem as thought it was saying 'no', pleading for its life as the monster hunter drew his silver sword. The purifier said nothing in return. Beasts weren't worth words, whether they could understand them or not. He advanced forward confidently, staring down the werebeast with a sneer. He was prepared to plunge the sword down through the skull and end it mercifully.

  
The werewolf recoiled and then like lightening lunged. The Silver Hand moved to block his throat with his sword. The wolf sailed under the blade though, its claws slicing into the leather pauldron on the hunter's shoulder. The beast pried off the lighter layer of armor, cutting it away with its claws before sinking its fangs deep into the meat. It shook its head violently, rending, tearing, and slavering into the gushing wound.

  
The purifier, caught off guard by the atypical assault, reeled for several seconds before he bashed the pommel of the sword down into the beast's skull with crushing force. It let go and crumpled to the floor where the hunter wasted no time cleaving the beast's head from its neck with a single swing. The wolf head fell and rolled several paces away, red oozing from the stump and staining the wood of the pathetic hovel. It's muzzle contorted into a weird smile as its eyes continued to shift in its head. They focused on the Silver Dawn agent and it let out a low chuckle, blood bubbling over its teeth and lips as it did so. “May you know the fear you have wrought on so many others,” it rumbled with its last breath.

  
The purifier's boot came down on the laughing severed head with a stomach churning crunch. He seethed at the audacity of the beast, but it was already too late for anger. The shock of the encounter was already fading from his system and he could feel the burning of infection snaking through his veins. Rockjoint? Ataxia? No, he knew better than to hope for something so trivial and treatable. He had seen it happen to many other hunters in his tenure with the Silver Dawn. They who so righteously hunted the scourge of Hircine's brood succumbed to the very taint they set about to destroy. Their fate would now be his as well.

  
The adrenaline kept his fear of death at bay, for now, but the fear of being infected was still very present. He was far into the swamps now, some ways from any chapel or priest that could see to him. If he rode hard and fast without rest, and if the swamps were merciful, he might yet make it to Wayrest before the plague fully took root. It was a long shot to be sure. Or he could attempt to scavenge the ingredients to make an antidote, something that was more feasible but would depend on the bounty of nature to favor him.

  
He had no time to pray to strange forest gods. The hunter resolved himself to make the marathon run to civilization and left the shack behind him. He saw some of the other citizens of the hamlet had roused from slumber and were now stalking the barely worn path between their huts with dull lanterns. They looked to him pleadingly, but he shrugged way their inquisitive gazes, leaving the corpse and the mess for them to clean as he began his furious trek back to the main road. And towards his cure.


	2. The Silver Death

Yanpu was an old Redguard of few words and fewer expressions. His face seemed almost permanently etched in a scowl, silently passing judgment on the loudness and the brashness of adventurers who came and went from the tavern at all hours. They would bang their fists on the walls and tables, make elaborate toasts with off-key singing, and tell tales so tall they would dwarf Tall Papa. More than the overly embellished stories of their accomplishments though, Yanpu listened for the rumors. Typically they spoke of goblins in mines, ghosts in towers, bandits on the roads, and the usual affairs.

But sometimes he would hear of the 'Silver Death', a werebeast plaguing High Rock for generations now. It was sighted rarely, but where it dared showed itself, death came swiftly after. In one legend the Silver Death was spotted by a mage's tower one night, and in the morning the bodies of the mage and all his apprentices were stacked in a pile outside. The stories only became wilder as time went on. They said it was nine feet tall, that it could lift and throw an armored steed, that looking into its eyes would strike any man or mer dead on the spot. These were the stories he was interested in.

Tonight he was in the bustling city of Daggerfall, having a drink at the Rosy Lion and getting acquainted with the local news through osmosis. Much of the day-to-day chatter was about the mundane doings of the townsfolk, of bread prices and unfashionable neighbors. There was talk of werewolves being a recurring problem in the nearby villages, but they were unremarkable ones who kept laregly to the fens, not about spreading terror clear to Alicare. As the faces of Masser and Secunda, both round and bright but not yet full, rose high into the night the old hunter stood from his place at the bar and prepared to retire to his room.

“I saw a werewolf but... not a werewolf. It was... small, really tiny, but fast as a cliff strider flies,” a young Breton said in a very urgent voice to laughing table of other motley armored rat catchers. “It's true! I saw it near the swamps... But it wasn't with the other werewolves though... it was... I think it was _eating_ them.”

“Tell us another,” a nord laughed and slapped the table. “Wolves eating wolves! What's next? Tuskface eating his vegetables?”

“Why does it matter if they eat each other? They're all just dumb monsters, ripe for killing,” an orc interjected. “And you didn't even bring back its head, what a waste.”

Yanpu approached the table and set a hand on the young Breton's shoulder. “Where?” he said sternly. The young boy shrunk back before noticing the wolf-patterned stitching on the Redguard's cuirass and perking up. “You're one of the Silver Dawn's hunters, aren't you? I stopped to tell some of the acolytes but if y-”

“Where!?” Yanpu roared urgently, his calm, stoic expression faltering slightly with a look of urgency.

“O-outside Aldcroft, a bit to the south, there's a small homestead there, can't miss it an-”

“Stendarr have mercy on them,” Yan mumbled, rushing through the tavern door before the young man could even finish his sentence.

He ran fast and hard, dodging through the night market's crowds with an eerie grace as he made for the gate out of town.

“Halt, there's beasts on the roads! Citizens are to-”

Yan completely ignored the guard as he carried on. The guard, not being a fool, deigned to stop a man so resigned to run headfirst into a nest of werewolves. Meddling in the affairs of madmen rarely goes well.

An unnatural speed hastened the hunter's steps as he found himself in a familiar swamp. The soil was wet, yielding, but the air smelled of charcoal. Something was burning. He doubled his pace, veering from the main roads to instead investigate the wolfsigns left behind. Half-eaten corpses of men were scattered through the swamps, dead werewolves drooped over some of them. Some were crudely hacked apart by an adventurer's blade, but on closer inspection some it seems, as the Breton had said, appeared to have been eaten themselves. This wasn't normal behavior, even for the most mundane and feral of wolves. On the contrary, he knew only one other to do such a thing.

Finding the wolf-eater though would have to come after he met up with the Silver Dawn.

Now he followed the smell of fire, a scent that was thick with the reek of death long before the billowy plumes could be seen. A pulsing orange glow could be seen between the rotted trees, and the screams of civilians shattered the serenity of the moon laden night. A roaring inferno completely engulfed a homestead, with smaller fires flickering atop ashpiles of other hovels and grim bonefires. He approached the hamlet cautiously, knowing it was already too late to save any innocents. Where the Silver Dawn dared show itself death came swiftly after.

It was a grotesque scene, one he'd had the displeasure of looking upon many times before. Though he looked upon the scene with a stone-wrought face it never became easier for him to confront. Corpses of adults had been tied to stakes and left to roast in the fires. Their children had simply been thrown onto the kindling. A tiny hand reached from the smoldering pile of wood, bits of cooked flesh hanging from bony little fingers, as if they had tried to claw their way to freedom, or perhaps to beg for mercy in vain. He knelt besides the fire, sticking his fingers into the still hot ash. He drew the holy symbols to invoke Stendarr's mercy and Arkay's guidance for the deceased. He was no priest, he wasn't even sure he believed in the eight, but he would dutifully perform these last rites for the victims unmourned.

“Age has made you soft, Yanpu,” a voice called from beyond the corridor of flames. Shadows of figures were obscured by the dancing lights, but the voice was all too familiar.

“Age hasn't made you any less of a monster,” Yanpu retaliated calmly as he got to his feet.

An Imperial in silver armor stepped into the light, his expression a twisted, callous smirk. His features were deceptively handsome, as if to hide what a loathsome cur he truly was. “YOU call ME a monster? Don't make me laugh, old man!” Other shapes from beyond the fire twisted and moved, betraying the movements of reinforcements. “These... 'people', if you could call them that, were the real monsters. Trafficking with werebeasts is no better than being one.” He spat derisively in the direction of the corpse display.

Yanpu took a step towards the commander. A crossbow bolt came whizzing from beyond the flames and embedded itself square in the Redguard's chest, mere inches above the heart. “I see today will not be the day you fight me yourself, coward,” he grumbled as he advanced another step. He didn't even bother to remove the bolt as he did so.

“I didn't tell you to fire yet! Idiots!” the commander turned his head to hiss at his hidden retinue. It took only a moment of looking away and the older man was upon him. The Redguard aimed a savage punch at the younger man. His knuckles connected with a sickening crunch as the Imperial's jaw splintered and spun away from the rest of his face, a few teeth following with it. He crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his useless mouth as he looked up, eyes roiling with both terror and loathing.

“I failed you long ago, boy. It is only right I correct this mistake,” Yanpu said, placing a heavy boot on the other man's chest. There was the sound of a confused clattering and another bolt pierced the Redguard's shoulder. He looked over to where the bolts were coming from and dared to crack a smile.

The simple smirk twisted and warped into a snarl as the color red began to flood his eyes. His lips parted slightly as he inhaled, showing a flash of dagger-like teeth. The sound of bones cracking and crunching could be heard even over the crackle of the flames, but this time it was coming from within. He quickly reached to his shoulder and tore at one of the buckles holding his armor on. It came loose and with a roll of his shoulders it dropped to the ground. A moment longer and it doubtlessly would have popped off anyway as his muscles began to bulge and swell. It seemed almost as if something were moving beneath his skin as it rippled and writhed on his form. Then it 'popped' the sickening sound of ripping flesh giving way to seams of moonlight bleached hair. With terrible claws he began to tear at his skin, shredding it away to reveal the silver fur underneath. As the bones of his jaws broke and rebuilt themselves to accommodate his muzzle full of aching fangs, he threw his head back and belted out a terrible, air shaking howl.

It all happened faster than the onlookers could comprehend. They saw the red, then the white, the howl, and then the wolf was upon them. It leapt through the flames, immediately seizing the crossbowman in his fangs. He precariously held the man in his teeth by the head, and then with little effort crunched his skull as if it were an over ripe melon. Gore sprayed over the other men and stained the werebeast's silver coat red.

Screaming and scrambling as they attempted to run, one merely booking it, others attempting to trip or throw each other down to afford themselves a better chance. He jumped over the 'bait' and straight onto the back of one of the traitors. The man's spine buckled and snapped like a sapling under half a ton of wolf. Another coward he merely grabbed, his claws piercing through their armor as if it were little more than aluminum paper, and hurled them to the ground with all his strength. There was a loud crack as the man tried to stop himself with his arm, mangling the limb beyond all repair as he landed on it. The last one standing had merely made a break for it, running as fast as possible in any direction away. The beast crossed the distance with a single pounce, landing in front of the last soldier and clothes-lining him with the back of his arm. The crackling sounded far worse than the wound itself was, little more than a broken nose, maybe an orbital fracture. The point was, he'd wouldn't be running back to Silver Dawn headquarters just yet. There was still one more loose end to tie up.

Yanpu bounded back to where he had left the commander, broken and sprawled in the ash. What he found was a puddle of blood, some streaks and drips showing that he had gotten up and fled in the chaos. The wolf sniffed the air deep, looking for the scent, but the burning ash and smoke, as well as the reek of gore and burning flesh all covered his escape. Likely the cur had a stallion stashed somewhere nearby, and while Yan could cover a lot of ground quickly, without knowing which direction surely the commander would be half way to Wayrest before he found a trail. Either way, he sent the sniveling pup back to his masters with a clear message; there would be only one Monster Hunter in High Rock.

He lumbered over to the broken, but alive soldiers of the Silver Dawn, regarding each of them coolly. He saw, and smelled, the fear upon them. They wanted for their lives in the face of an unconquerable monster, just as the peasants and their children had surely felt before being put to the flames. Unlike the soldiers, however, he was not motivated by zealotry. He reached down and swiped across the chest of each footman, tearing the insignia of the Silver Dawn from their clothing and throwing the collected emblems into the fire. Then he collected their silver swords, tossing them to where his own armor lay discarded on the ground. “Your commander has abandoned you. You are dead to the Silver Dawn. Return to your homes with what bones I saw fit to leave you, or next time you will be dead to me as well,” he declared, the guttural rasping of his beast-like maw struggling to speak softly to the panicking little lambs.

Though the beast within him raged and slavered for the blood of each and every one of his victims, though it longed for the sweet and tender of meat of the fallen, he bid the bloodlust to subside. Calm washed over him, rinsing him of his savage cravings as he gathered up his armor and the bundle of confiscated swords in his arms. He had chased out the Silver Dawn, for the time being, but now there was another matter of no less urgency.

Through the days he is known as Yanpu al-Khemic, an elderly hunter of monsters with a fondness for expensive ale and a dislike of casual conversation. But when then two moons cover Nirn with their light and wickedness dares to raise its head, he is The Silver Death.

 


	3. The Red Hunger

Yanpu stashed his clothing and the confiscated weapons in a dense thicket a ways from the main road. Though he could will himself to return to his man shape, he knew well it takes a beast to hunt a beast. With the night air dripping in the reek of death, he wouldn't be able to scent for a new wolf smell, but his other sense would still be far greater for tracking.

To start, he returned to the site of the first eaten werewolf corpses he found. Most of them seemed fresh, though the human corpses they were found with seemed to have been various levels of age. These wolves must have been a part of a smaller pack unit, perhaps belonging to the larger Hag Fen pack but functioning as an independent familial unit. It seemed as tho they were eating together, likely watching out for each other when the wolf-eater attacked them. What prompted the stranger to suddenly ambush other werewolves though? Yanpu had a hunch, but he would need to find the wolf-eater to confirm it.

He moved on, quickly and quietly, dropping to all fours and keeping himself low to the ground so as not to call attention to himself. It was hard to remain concealed against the dark grey and muddy brown marsh with such a luminous silver coat though. He had an idea of where to find this intruder, but he would need to approach them carefully. He had already shed enough blood for one night. Even as he tried to move stealthily, something felt... off. The occasional rustle of the brush behind him, a flash of a shadow in his peripheral vision. He couldn't feel the presence of another wolf, but his gut told him he was being watched. He laid low, closed his eyes, and waited.

_thwip_

_rustle rustle_

_crinkle crinkle crack!_

_rustlerustlerustlerustlerustle_

His eyes snapped open and he twisted around in time to see something leaping out of the brush. With a swipe of his paw he knocked the would be attacker to the ground. It bounced and rolled some, yelping like a frightened dog, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

It was... well, it was something. The creature was small, far smaller than even the runtiest werewolves in the Hag Fens. It was covered in thick, plush red fur, less scraggly and gangling looking than others from around here. The creature scrambled to get on all fours, every fur on its compact, wiry frame standing on end as it puffed up and snarled at Yanpu.

In response, Yanpu stood up on his hind legs, towering over the smaller creature. “Can you speak?” he asked plainly, not even acknowledging the poor 'threat display' from his quarry.

The creature's eyes lit up and its muzzle opened, but then clamped shut and gaze an appraising glare over the the silver wolf.

He met the creature's gaze and attempted to, as best as a lupine monstrosity is able to, soften his expression. “Werebeasts do not talk. They don't even appear to be above other animals. But you are different, right? You think and you feel, just like a man.”

“I'm not a beast!” the beast chirped in a voice far too high pitched to match with its the bestial visage.

“So you do speak,” he said, earning himself a defiant glare. He ignored it and sat back down in front of his quarry. “How long have you been infected?”

“I-I'm not infected!” it rasped desperately. Its ears rolled back with the look of overwhelming fear in its big, brass-colored eyes. “I'm not... I'm not a monster.”

Ah, it must have been very recent, if they were still in denial. “I am going to help you, if you will let me,” he said urgently, meeting the small wolf's eyes with an earnest look. “If you want to be left to wander until the hunger drives you insane, then I will return in the morning to kill you, if you like. Or you can be honest with me now.”

The tiny wolf whimpered, shrinking inwards and avoiding Yanpu's gaze. “I... I don't. I don't want to...to...”

Wordlessly the massive werewolf placed a paw on the pup's shoulder. He gripped them gently and they trembled for several moments. Then it inhaled shakily and started again, looking up at Yan submissively. “I was coming from Valenwood, w-we crossed into Reaper's March and something attacked. The others chased it away but it bit me... I... I didn't feel so good afterwards. I thought it was... just a bit of Collywobbles. The Medicine Cat in Rawl'ka said that they could not cure what I had, but that someone in Wayrest could. I got on the first boat and... the rest is... fuzzy. I just remember...”

“Being hungry?” Yan questioned. The other beast nodded meekly. “You didn't even realize you weren't yourself anymore, did you?”

“No... I don't... I don't remember anything besides the hunger and... the fear.”

“You've done well to remain cognizant through all that. You have a lot of potential to recover,” Yan said plainly, though there were undertones of sympathy in his gruff, stoic grumble.

“You mean I can be cured still?” the little wolf lit up with hope.

“Once the curse has taken root, it is impossible to cure,” Yan said grimly, feeling a slight pang as he saw the hope vanish from the little one's eyes. “But, you will be able to control it. You will be able to live without fear.”

“And... the hunger?”

“The hunger will always be with you, but you can overcome it.” His voice was stern and hard, yet supportive. “We do not have to be monsters. We can be more than beasts.”

The small wolf seemed assured, but looked up at Yan incredulously. “You came looking for me... why?”

Yan rose to his feet again, glancing skyward as the twin moons were slowly beginning to make their decent from the sky. “I was the same, when I first changed. I was a hunter of werewolves, I could not imagine living as one. I was in denial, until the hunger consumed me... and yet, I remained. I knew I was a man, not a beast. I continued to hunt monsters, and I sated my hunger on them. For a time, at least.” He looked back to the small wolf, who was looking up at him in adoration, and felt a small smile tug at his lips. “It was some years ago now. I have seen many infected, both before and after my change. Most become lost to the beast. It is a rare that someone should over come it. To squander that potential would be little better than infecting them myself.”

The wee wolf puffed up slightly and jumped to their hind feet. Even standing tall as they could, they still were hardly half the size of Yanpu. “So I'm an experiment?”

Yan shot the little one a deadly glare, a warning to watch their smart mouth before it ended up smashed shut. “I am still a hunter of monsters. If teaching you to control your beasthood means one less beast tearing people apart, then I am still doing my job. I do not delight in taking life unnecessarily.”

The red wolf nodded. “Oh, I-I see. I guess that does make sense. I would rather not be dead. I mean I would rather not be cursed but between cursed and dead I would more rather not be dead!”

Yanpu sighed heavily. Now that the little one was starting to warm up to him they were becoming far more talkative than he liked in a companion. “You will be under my protection, so long as you control yourself.”

“That's a load off of my mind, sir. By the way, what is your name? Mine's Cydellia, but most call me Maple Leaf, it's because of-”

“Yanpu. Yan is sufficient.”

“Oh, neat, that's an exotic name! Or at least where I come from, I've never heard it. Where are you from? Where is-”

This was going to be a long apprenticeship.

 


End file.
